The Long Good Friday.

Where to begin?

Well, for starters, the missus started a new job today so I arose very early to get her a cup of coffee and run her bath - this allowed the required two hours to choose the outfit for the day. At 8.15, she sauntered out of the door with a cheery wave and instructions regarding ironing and hoovering. I was pleased as punch.

Prior to getting up this morning, I had seen the news about Purnell sticking the boot into the snotgobbler at his exit, thus I knew the news channels would be buzzing.

After a full hoovering of the entire house and a token attempt at ironing (surely the most boring thing ever) I slumped down to trawl through the interweb, whilst BBC News 24 played in the background.

OH making no.10 (how ironic!) in the politics blog listings cheered me up - good work fella - and the sychophantic mewlings of Toenails Robinson only served to prove what I have been saying to the missus for the last six months; this blogging stuff really has impact.

The public appetite for politics has risen by about 1000% recently, for that we have the likes of Guido, as well as OH, Obo, Leg Iron, Mrs Dale and allsorts to thank as newspapers read blogs and they know they need to gauge opinion.

Lunch came and went and still no news from the missus - a mild panic began to set in, luckily it was quashed within three minutes when the landline rang; she couldn't get reception on her mobile hence the utter silence. So, now the missus can't easily get hold of me when she's at work...hmm...

After the solid lunch, I decided a few pints - whilst watching the Epsom races - would be in order; after all, the missus wasn't going to be back much before 6pm.

Five pints of Young's and "Ask" comes in at 5-1, pocketing me forty quid overall and I toddle off home to put the dinner on. On the way, my faith in human nature is restored to an extent. To elucidate, there is an old fella who whizzes about on one of those electric buggy thingies and obviously he needs dropped kerbs to get across some roads. As I was walking home, he was coming the other way and suddenly, from my right, White Van Man slammed to a halt blocking the dropped kerb my side. I could see the old whizzer stop the othe side, looking forlornly at White Van Man.

Now the odd bit. WVM had stopped to actually take a mobile phone call - no continue driving with a Ginsters in your gob for this fella - he actually stopped. A rarity. I was walking up at this point, with my jaw agape and then my mind returned to the old whizzer, so I shouted at WVM "Oi - he needs a dropped kerb to get his buggy back up on the pavement!"

A couple of seconds of confusion clouded his ruddied cheeks and then - instead of the expected "fuck off you cunt!" he said "Oh sorry, I'll back up". And he did. With no malice and a broad grin. The old whizzer scooted past me and said "Thanks and cheerio".

Arrived home, dinner sorted, missus returned and ate heartily, telling me about her first day in the new job. So far, so good.

Then I turn the TV on and oh my word. The day just gets better and better. That cunt Flint has gone. Hutton's quit. Hoon has quit. Beckett has quit. Gibson has resigned forcing a bye-election.
And, as an act of pure comedy, Amstrad has been appointed in some fuckwitteried role. GORDON - understand this, phoning Britain's Got Talent or appointing a beardy weirdie from the Apprentice WILL NOT make people vote for you. Is it true that Susan Boyle phoned no.10 to enquire about your well-being? You're a prick. Now, do us all a favour and get an Air France flight somewhere.

Back to The Long Good Friday - Helen Mirren had great tits.